In the Dark of the Night
by Gamma Orionis
Summary: In the dark of the night, Death Eaters and the darkest of acts reign supreme. Won second place in darkarts-ldws on Livejournal. Chapter Four: Lucius Malfoy and magical coercion
1. The Marking of A Black: Regulus Black

Author's Notes: This collection was written for darkarts_ldws on Livejournal - a drabble writing competition in which, each round, a Death Eater and a theme are provided as prompts, drabbles are written about them, and there is voting for the best ones. I won second place overall, and now I'm finally allowed to post the drabbles.

Enjoy!

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**Title**: The Marking of a Black  
**Characters/Pairings**: Regulus and Bellatrix  
**Prompt**: Ritual Scarification  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Word Count**: 500  
**Warnings**: Sadistic behaviour

The door of the dungeon in which Regulus had been locked in solitude, in preparation for taking the Dark Mark, creaked open, and the light of a single candle appeared. Regulus looked up eagerly, expecting the Dark Lord, come to finally give him his mark, but his heart sank when he saw his cousin.

"Bellatrix? Why are you here?"

"To prepare you." She sounded breathless and excited, and her eyes gleamed in the candlelight. "Hold out your arm."

"Why?"

"So I may ready it for the Dark Mark. You do not expect the Dark Lord to be the only one to be involved in your marking, do you?" She set the candle down and knelt before him, pulling a silver dagger from a scabbard at her waist.

Regulus swallowed hard, eyes trained upon the knife. Bellatrix smirked slightly at the expression upon his face, grasping him by the wrist and pulling his arm straight.

"Now, don't be afraid…" she crooned. "This won't hurt…"

_Liar._

Regulus looked up at her, mutinously, conveying with his expression that he knew quite well that it was going to hurt and that she was going to enjoy it.

"Don't be pathetic, cousin," she told him when she saw the look on his face. "You are a Black. Blacks should not feel pain."

"Shouldn't they?" he asked quietly, tempting fate in the form of his cousin's anger for disagreeing with her. "I think they should… I think they do…" A part of him realized his own stupidity – _he was here alone with her, and she had a knife and he was unarmed _ - but he spoke despite that.

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed with anger. "Blacks are above pain."

Regulus said nothing, but he allowed a sneer to play around his lips, making it abundantly clear that he believed nothing of what his cousin said. She _wanted_ to believe Blacks were impervious to pain to justify her twisted ideologies, and her own sadism. Telling Regulus it was below him to object to it was her method of telling herself that it was not wrong for her to enjoy inflicting it.

He shut his eyes again and breathed deeply, letting his face go smooth when Bellatrix lowered her knife to his forearm. He tried to avoid exhibiting any reaction as he felt his flesh splitting beneath the intricate movements of her blade.

Her breath hitched, and Regulus knew that she loved hurting him, even if she did not get the satisfaction of seeing his pain and being able to mock him for it.

Bellatrix took her time, carving up her cousin's arm until she had to press her fingers to it to keep ribbons of skin in place, and. finally, when Regulus thought he could no longer contain his agony, she spoke.

"Look at it."

He did, lowering his eyes to his forearm.

There, carved into his skin, streaming blood and ready for the Dark Lord to enchant it into full power, was the outline of the Dark Mark.


	2. Well Disguised Secrets: Severus Snape

**Title**: Well Disguised Secrets  
**Characters/Pairings**: Severus and the Dark Lord  
**Prompt**: Invasion of the mind  
**Rating**: G  
**Word Count**: 466  
**Warnings**: None

"My Lord…"

Severus's voice broke the intense silence that hung over the graveyard. The other Death Eaters had been sent on their way, and the air was still, not so much as a whisper of wind. Only the Dark Lord himself remained to mar the sanctity of the night.

He was standing beside a stone statue of an angel, his spidery, pale fingers absently tracing the stonework, and he did not react to Severus's arrival.

"My Lord?"

He, the Dark Lord, raised one hand for silence. There were several long, tense moments in which Severus did not dare to speak again, but kept his eyes trained upon his Master's silhouette in the dark.

"You have returned, Severus," breathed the Dark Lord at last, turning to face Severus, his voice a silky hiss so cold that it sent shivers through the air. "I must say that you have surprised me. I expected you to desert the cause…"

Severus kept his face as impassive as he could manage, letting himself betray not the faintest hint of emotion when he met the Dark Lord's eyes.

"I would never, my Lord," he said.

"It is difficult to believe that…" The Dark Lord's lip curled into the very slightest of sneers, "when you going to such lengths to employ Occlumency against me. You have something to hide, Severus…"

Severus's heart pulsed in just a moment of sheer panic, but he shook his head slowly.

"No, my Lord. Nothing."

"Then…?"

Severus breathed deeply, inclined his head in the tiniest of bows, and lowered his defences, allowing the Dark Lord access to some of his thoughts – _potions classes, Karkaroff's disloyalty, hatred for the Potter boy_… though he kept certain memories – _Dumbledore's orders, Lily's eyes –_ hidden away from his Master's invasion.

He was sure that he could sense his thoughts being pulled from his mind and examined, then the Dark Lord nodded slowly, and Severus dared to meet his eyes again. He bit down upon the corner of his tongue to distract himself, to keep his expression still and his eyes clear of guilt, and waited for the Dark Lord's verdict.

Every second lasted a painful eternity, and in spite of himself, Severus felt a tiny bubble of panic rising within him. Could it be that the Dark Lord had seen past the barriers, past what Severus had _wanted_ him to see, into the recesses of his mind that housed thoughts of Lily Evans? Worse, thoughts of his allegiance to Albus Dumbledore? Would years upon years of lies and deception be wasted because of a moment of weakness that night?

"Welcome back, Severus, welcome back," the Dark Lord breathed, and Severus's relief at his lies passing by the Dark Lord's inspection once again was beyond any relief that he had felt in the past.


	3. Deepest, Darkest: Evan Rosier

**Title**: Deepest, Darkest  
**Characters/Pairings**: Evan Rosier  
**Prompt**: Dementor breeding  
**Rating**: R  
**Word Count**: 667  
**Warnings**: Dementor!sex

Evan Rosier felt many things when, at the very first Death Eater meeting that he had been permitted to attend, two Dementors were brought before him and the other men. He felt the swooping misery that always accompanied them, then an additional flash of annoyance that turned to anger at the Dark Lord for bringing them out and forcing him to feel the unhappiness. He felt confusion as to why they were there. But one thing that he most certainly did not feel when the creatures moved together, so close as to almost be mistaken for one, and he realized what they were doing, was arousal.

The Dark Lord, it would seem, was different from Evan in this respect.

"Look at them," he told his Death Eaters, almost breathlessly. Evan did look, and the rest of them did as well, taking in the way in which their bodies – if they could be called that – twined about each other intimately. "Look at how they embrace… this ultimate act of darkness…"

_Vile,_ Evan thought. _It is vile and disgusting._ He felt vomit rising in his throat, and quiet voices were beginning to make themselves known in the back of his mind.

Their skeletal hands disappeared into the flowing rags of cloaks that clung to the Dementors' frames, and Evan's stomach turned. He swallowed hard, forcing himself not to be sick, but had no doubt that the image would haunt his nightmares for months to come. A glance at the Dark Lord, who was staring almost longingly at them, suggested that he would not be the only one for whom this memory would last.

"You look away," the Dark Lord breathed at last, looking around to the others, who all looked quite ill. "All of you pride yourself on your respect for the Dark Arts, and yet this act repulses you. Why? Rosier," he said, turning his attention to Evan, "you are the youngest and newest here. Speak for your compatriots and tell me why this disgusts you."

Evan jolted. He was unready to be addressed and distracted by the Dementors. The whispers in the back of his mind were becoming louder and he did not want to hear them and it took all he had not to succumb to the creeping tendrils of misery he could feel curling around his almost palpably.

"I– I do not know, my Lord," he said, hating how like a whimper his voice sounded.

"You must… you cower from them more than any of the rest…"

Evan could not listen. He was transfixed, gazing on in horror while one Dementor lowered its hood. Its mouth gaped open grotesquely and the second Dementor's posture seemed to change – though it was difficult to be sure, with the two creatures floating off the ground. It was a relief that the Dark Lord spoke no more, because Evan could not have brought himself to reply.

The second Dementor had lowered its hood now too, and Evan had to struggle to hold back tears of profound sorrow and terror. The Dementor's mouths were barely inches apart, and even as Evan watched, one of them began to shake. Its rattling breath became louder, and slowly, painfully, what looked like a wisp of smoke – or perhaps a scrap of thin cloth – emerged.

Evan had never understood before how Dementors reproduced, and when the… the fabric or the smoke or whatever it could be said to be was pulled completely from its throat and congealed into a rough approximation of another Dementor and the creatures split apart, he was sure he had never wanted to.

"You have not answered me, Rosier." There was something close to a catch in the Dark Lord's voice, but he managed to sound as composed as ever. "Why are you so disgusted by this?"

"I do not know, my Lord," Evan repeated.

But he did know.

He knew that even those who adored darkness had lines that they would not cross, and seeing Dementors copulate was his.


	4. Pretty Lights: Lucius Malfoy

**Title**: Pretty Lights  
**Characters**: Lucius and Abraxas  
**Prompt**: Magical Coercion  
**Rating**: PG  
**Word Count**: 357  
**Warnings**: Murder

Lucius was only thirteen years old when his father arranged for him to be brought along on a mission for the Dark Lord.

Abraxas was honoured among the Dark Lord's circle, one of the closest Death Eaters to him, and people expected Lucius to follow in his father's footsteps. He, Lucius, was wary, but Abraxas assured him that once he had been on a mission with him, he would learn to appreciate a life as a Death Eater.

The mission was a murder.

Lucius followed along, keeping out of sight in the shadows while his father cornered his victim with an almost frightening degree of ease, but he felt his stomach turn when Abraxas uttered the killing curse and his target crumpled to the ground.

Lucius looked away when his father approached the corpse. Murder was ugly and undignified, Lucius thought, and if that was how service to the Dark Lord was, then he wanted no part in it.

"Lucius."

"Yes, Father?" he said, his voice shaking slightly.

"Watch me."

"I can't–"

"_Lucius._"

"I don't want to–"

"Lucius!"

He glanced up unwillingly and met the eyes of his father, who gave one short nod, then raised his wand and pointed it into the air.

"_Morsmordre!_"

All the misgivings that Lucius had had a moment ago fell away.

He watched the spell his father had cast in awe. The murder had been ugly, yes, but this, what he was doing now… it was beautiful. Beyond beautiful.

Emerald stars shot from Abraxas's wand, filling the street with bright light and congealing in the sky, forming a vibrant, pulsating green skull, a snake twisting from between its jaws, hanging in the sky like a surreal constellation.

"Do you like it, my son?" Abraxas asked quietly, and Lucius, utterly transfixed, nodded.

"Would you like to learn to make it?"

Lucius had not even found a chance to think before he was agreeing.

He didn't realise for a long time how ridiculous it had been of him. How mad, that he had willingly given his life over to the Dark Lord, all for the sake of a few pretty lights.


End file.
